


heaving through corrupted lungs

by evanstans (sorrylovebut)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Domestic Avengers, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:16:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylovebut/pseuds/evanstans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky only ever dreams of falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heaving through corrupted lungs

**Author's Note:**

> im back again! this time with some bucky!centric stevebucky hurt/comfort.
> 
> as always all errors are mine and if you like it, comments/kudos are much appreciated!
> 
> find me on twitter @starkbucky and tumblr! www.starkbuckys.tumblr.com

\+ + +

“There's got to be a rope or something.”

“No, just go, get out of here!”

“No, not without you!”

\+ + +  

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time.”

\+ + +

It's the same dream every time. 

Steve reaches a hand out, and as he looks at it, all Bucky can hear is the sickening crunch of metal as it gives way. He remembers the look on Steve's face as he screams in pain and sorrow, only thinking one thing.

Why didn't Steve catch him?

And sometimes, when he wakes up, all Bucky can remember is the ice.

\+ + + 

Bucky wakes up screaming, pressing his face against his pillow so he doesn't wake up the entirety of Stark Tower. His skin is too hot where it isn't drenched in a cold sweat, and he licks his too dry lips as he sits up straight. 

An entire wall of his room is just a window overlooking New York City in every bit of its' glory. It isn't the city Bucky is supposed to remember; but it's still New York. 

It's still his home.

He looks out onto the city, into the unknown darkness of the alleyways and the bright lights of the skyscrapers  along the skyline and just wonders. He wills his heart to calm down, wishes for the adrenaline to stop flowing, and just looks. Listens, watches; tries to find something familiar.

He isn't surprised when he doesn't find anything. He's not even sure why he still tries.

He likes the idea of having an anchor. He thinks he just hasn't found one strong enough to ground the impossibly heavy weight that is his heart and mind.

He eventually regains a clear enough head and decent mobility in his legs to be able to walk over to the large window. He presses his bionic hand to the window pane and sighs as the glow of the city shines against the metal plating.

He has a sudden urge to break the glass, shatter it into pieces. He grits his teeth and the metal of his hand crunches with unused force. But he then deduces that he would probably fall forward out of the building from the force of it.

And besides, falling is truly what got him here, isn't it?

So he doesn't shatter the window, even though he could. He doesn't break the glass into a million small pieces, even though that's how it feels every single fucking day in this strange new world.

Sometimes he misses the ice because he didn't have to feel. When he was frozen, he didn't have to think about the things he had done. The fact that that statement is true makes his skin crawl.

He looks down into an alleyway near the tower as he scans the streets to scramble his thoughts, and he sees the silhouette of a fist make contact with a smaller face. Bucky winces as the younger man is pushed up against the wall, but he doesn't look away. He can't.

He can practically see the undying resistance that would be etched on the boy's face, the way he would raise his tiny fists, trying to look determined and firm with blood dripping from his nose and his busted and swollen lip- “I can do this all day.”

Bucky looks away then.

The bright lights soon become too much, and he mutters something in Russian. Jarvis seems to understand him though, and the blinds close behind him as he walks away. Jarvis says nothing in response, and Bucky is alone again.

He doesn't go back to bed, because all that's waiting for him there is blood and gore and the sounds of screaming and crunching bones; the sounds of a never ending war.

See, Bucky Barnes fights two battles, all the time: the fight to keep the world safe from the forces that would threaten it, and the fight to keep himself from falling apart.

He presses two fingers to his temple and sighs, cursing the world under his breath. He can't go back to bed, and his mind is still clouded with sleep, so he makes his way to the elevator. Jams flesh and bone fingers against the keypad and steps inside it when the doors open. He presses for floor number 13, and shudders against his will when the doors close.

He closes his eyes, head leaning back against cool metal, and attempts to calm himself down.

When the doors open again he makes his way through the disaster area that is the Avengers' common room. He kicks bean bags away and moves coffee tables and picks up Nerf arrows from where Clint and Falcon were starting a war. He remembers their laughter, and how Falcon had fallen down, hand clutching his heart in a fake death while Clint howled with laughter. He also sees a bottle of nail polish remover and a still open container of deep red polish. Natasha and Pepper were painting each other's nails earlier, and he can remember their giggles and flushed cheeks as they lay pressed together on the couch. A small smile creeps onto his features, but then his hand twitches around the foam arrow in his palm with a memory of one of his Afghani missions, and he immediately tosses it to the side like it's an open flame.

He stumbles into the kitchen and is confused when the light is already on. 

He's ashamed of the way his hand slaps against his thigh trying to draw a knife out when he sees someone hunched over at the kitchen table, pen and paper in hand, scaring the shit out of Bucky.

Steve's head jerks up at the noise and Bucky recoils. Steve's lips twitch into a frown and Bucky lets out a harsh breath.

“I'm sorry, I-”

“You don't need to apologise for that, Bucky, I've told you that before,” Steve murmurs, eyes flickering back down to his sketchpad and Bucky swallows.

“Yeah, okay,” he whispers, starting a brew of coffee and sitting down across from Steve, putting his head in his hands.

He hears the sounds of Steve closing his sketchpad and him moving closer after only a few minutes. He huffs out a breath but doesn't look up to face him.

“Why are you down here, Buck?”

“I was just about to ask you that same question,” Bucky quips defensively. He didn't expect Steve to be down here, and now that he is, it still doesn't change Bucky's plans of not talking to anyone.

“I couldn't sleep, Bucky, and you knew that already,” Steve sighs and Bucky feels a bit bad because he does know.

“But what is it that-” Bucky asks weakly. Steve sighs in frustration, cracking his knuckles. Bucky swallows.

“Don't ask me that question if you're not ready to answer it yourself,” Steve says suddenly, and Bucky inhales deeply, jerking his head in acknowledgement. His mouth closes around the words 'you keep me awake'. 

Well played, Rogers.

It's a long silence before someone dares to speak again.

“Talk to me, Buck. What is it?” Steve asks quietly, a soft defeat, and Bucky's eyes snap open. They flick around the kitchen, across the knives on the counter and they land on the freezer. The coffee pot rumbles quietly in the background and a pained noise makes its way out of Bucky's chest when he thinks of the cold.

Cold, so cold. The bitter ice that seeped into his bones. The waiting, oh god, the waiting to die, either that or a slim to none chance of rescue. The snow, it froze his heart entirely. Every vein, every ventricle; covered in a thick layer of frost as a loaded rifle was pushed into his hand and a lifetime's worth of programming shoved into his brain.

And it took a fucking army to unfreeze him again.

He suddenly decides he can't spend another night like this.

“I- Steve, you didn't catch me,” Bucky chokes on the words, fists clenching on the table. He hears Steve inhale sharply but he can't make himself face him yet. “You were supposed to- always, that's what you said,” Bucky says, eyes wide as he turns to look at Steve finally. Steve looks so lost, eyes distant, and Bucky can practically see the memory dancing across his eyes. “Always, till the end of the line,” he says, hands starting to shake and Steve is stunned silent.

“Bucky, I-”

“And you didn't look, Steve,” Bucky continues, plowing on because it's like the floodgates have opened. The only thing that's plagued his nightmares for months have finally surfaced. Steve's words don't even register on his radar. “You didn't even go back and look to see if I was still alive. I-” Bucky takes a huge gasping breath, trying to fight back a sob. “And oh, oh my god.”

Bucky wants to punch him, but he also wants to hug him, hold him, all at the same time, and hell, maybe even-

“I fucking waited for you!” Bucky wails, eyes wild with hurt as he turns to finally face Steve. His chest clenches painfully when he sees Steve's eyes welled up with tears, but he says nothing. Steve doesn't get that from him now. “It was cold, so cold, and it felt like my blood was freezing and my arm- my fucking arm,” he snarls in distaste, flesh and bone fingers digging into the harsh metal. Steve swallows. “Everything fucking hurt, and still, through everything, the only thing I could remember was you saying you were with me till the end of the line.”

Bucky sobs then, and Steve moves to hug him. Bucky stops him with a metal hand to his sternum, pressing back harshly. Steve goes right back to where he was, and Bucky sees a stray tear fall down his cheek. Bucky's eyes are ablaze with the cold fear of rejection and the warm heat of anger, and his thoughts are scrambled.

“You don't get to do that to me Steve, not after-”

“I'm sorry,” Steve whispers, choking on the syllables and Bucky's heart breaks violently. It shatters and it feels like the glass shards get stuck in his throat, and suddenly his anger is abandoned. Instead he's just heart broken, trying to find a place to grab onto so that he doesn't fall again.

“You- I- you promised,” Bucky falters, but Steve doesn't.

“Don't think for one second that anything is your fault Bucky,” Steve murmurs fiercely, eyes shining with unshed tears as tear tracks form on his cheeks. “It's my fault. You're right, Bucky, you're fucking right, and dear God I wish you weren't, and you don't know how much I wish I could change it.”

Bucky can't do anything but nod weakly, trying not to argue even though that isn't true at all. He's killed children, innocent women and men; everything is his fault.

Steve sees the doubt in his eyes and places both of his hands over Bucky's squeezing tightly as he wraps them together. Bucky releases a tiny noise as some of the tension leaves his body, Steve's warm fingers equally cool against the metal of his left arm. It's an odd sensation, Steve's hands holding his, and Bucky thinks he could get addicted very quickly.

 

 

 

“I didn't believe I would fall, Steve,” Bucky says in a small voice. Steve clutches his flesh and bone hand tighter. It takes away the notion that this is too much for Bucky's adjusting brain to handle. It makes the edge of pain fuzzy, and it's just what Bucky needs to be able to articulate what he has to say.

“I believed you would catch me Steve, because that's all I ever did for you. All of those winters when we had to cut things out of our lives so we could make ends meet, all of those night where I gave you my blankets because you would have died without them. All I ever did was save you, and I believed that against all odds you would save me, that you would somehow be my parachute even when it seemed impossible. Because goddamn Steve, that's what I was to you seventy years ago. When I screamed as I was falling, I wasn't screaming because of the force of the wind, or the way I knew it was going to hurt when I landed. I was screaming because you didn't catch me. Because we had reached the end of the line, and that hurt so much more than anything Zola could ever do to me,” Bucky murmurs and Steve suddenly stands, dropping to his knees and gripping Bucky's thighs with an iron grip. 

Bucky gasps at the force, hand itching for the knife again. His mind suddenly filters through a hundred different ways to kill Steve in this position and he winces at them, pushing them as far away as possible. Some things won't ever leave him.

“Never,” Steve says fiercely. Bucky swallows hard, eyes locking with Steve's. “It's never the end of the line. Not with you and me. Till the end of the line means until we don't need to protect each other anymore, and we both know we're always going to need each other. Either that, or we die trying. The end of the line is the absolute end, but goddammit Bucky, I'm never going to be through with you,” Steve says, voice raw and emotions completely open, and in his ocean blue eyes, Bucky sees everything. His coffee is long since forgotten as he gazes into Steve's eyes.

It's only fitting that he pulls Steve up by the collar and kisses him then, fierce and hot and pure. Steve's hands run through his long hair once before cradling his face, and Bucky shudders, mouth opening pliantly against Steve's tongue. When Steve finally pulls back for a hard gasp of air, he leaves two soft kisses against the corner of Bucky's mouth, and Bucky's eyes flutter shut at the lightness of them. He's fucked around, and he's had lovers, but none like this; never like this. He can feel the promise in every sweep of Steve's fingers, and every press of his lips tells Bucky that he's here to stay; winter soldier past and all. 

The press of their lips together feels like coming home, and Bucky lets his eyes slip shut as they move together.

Bucky brings Steve closer, eyes alight with a different kind of hunger. Steve swallows, and Bucky's hands close around his hips, hauling him in close. Steve goes willingly, pressing his forehead to Bucky's, and rolls his hips as soon as he's in position on Bucky's lap. Bucky groans, squeezes tighter with both metal and bone. Steve gasps in surprise.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses, cock twitching through his boxers and against the cotton of Steve's shirt. Steve swears in response, throwing his arms around Bucky's neck and kissing him again. “God, yes,” Bucky says in between the presses of Steve's lips to his and grips his hips even tighter. He hears Steve's sharp intake of breath, and somehow Bucky knows Steve will enjoy the finger shaped bruises around his hips tomorrow morning.

“Please, Bucky, let me-” And Bucky knows what Steve is trying to do. He wants to fix this, make it up to him somehow, but that isn't what Bucky needs.

Bucky just needs Steve.

“No,” Bucky huffs and Steve whines. “Together,” he says, and then Steve is climbing off of his lap and gathering Bucky up in his arms. Bucky doesn't protest, mewling instead when Steve pushes him down against the couch, pushing the pillows and coffee tables and leftover Nerf weapons away from them with superhuman force.

Bucky huffs out a laugh, smiling brightly when Steve turns back to him with a wicked smile. Bucky tugs him down for another heated kiss, relaxing his thighs so Steve can bear down in between them.

They fight their clothes off, pressing fingertips against skin, metal and flesh colliding, melding together in a combination that has Bucky's head spinning. By the time Steve reaches down to wrap a hand around Bucky's cock, Bucky's achingly hard, and his prick twitches at the first touch of Steve's hand.

“I'm gonna catch you if you fall, Buck,” Steve breathes, hot against his ear as he starts to move his hand.  Bucky reaches his hands up, locking them around Steve's neck, nails digging into Steve's skin at the sound of his voice. His mouth drops open, panting heavily against Steve's neck, bearing impossibly close. Steve hisses as Bucky's nails dig in, but it soon turns into a low moan as he continues to stroke at Bucky's cock. “God, I-I'm going to be right here. Till the end of the line, Bucky, I promise-”

And Bucky suddenly chokes on a sob, thighs tensing riding up against Steve's hand as he comes, falling apart in Steve's arms. Steve holds him tightly, grip bruising and Bucky loves it. He feels safe for the first time in months and he doesn't know how he's made it this far without having Steve like this. He strokes a sweaty palm over Steve's face, thumb swiping over his cheekbone and kissing his lips softly before taking Steve's hard cock in his hand, stroking him firmly. Steve's as hard as he was, thick and hot and wet in Bucky's hand, and he suddenly wants to taste it on his tongue, to have Steve everywhere and anywhere he can get him. 

Steve fumbles blindly for Bucky's metal hand, linking their fingers together besides Bucky's head. Bucky's heart tightens at the affectionate gesture, and the couch they're on is suddenly so incredibly intimate Bucky feels like he might combust with the pleasure of it all.

Steve's tongue moves languidly against Bucky's own as Bucky's hand speeds up. He swipes his thumb over the head, precum making the glide of his hand over Steve easier. His abs tighten and his mouth opens, tiny little moans escaping his lips when Bucky squeezes, holding him more firmly. Steve just barely bites back a shout when he spills into Bucky's hand soon after, thrusting slowly with one hand fitted against Bucky's metal one.

“Oh my god,” Bucky gasps when he finally gets his breathing capacity back after the breathtaking experience of watching Steve climax. Steve can't do anything but laugh, pressing his face against the sweaty skin of Bucky's collarbone. He bites down teasingly and Bucky squawks, swatting him away. Steve giggles, fucking giggles, and retreats to the kitchen on shaky legs to grab something to wipe themselves off with.

Bucky slouches back on the couch, legs still spread when Steve returns. Steve takes a deep breath and then blurts out “you're about to cause a major problem if you don't- change positions,” so Bucky just smiles and licks his lips, closing his legs as Steve hands him a washcloth.

“Your post-coital talk is so lovely, Rogers, catch me, I'm swooning,” Bucky quips and Steve smacks at his thigh. Bucky laughs, pulling Steve down to lie beside him. Steve goes willingly, fitting himself behind Bucky. Steve starts flipping channels on the television, and Bucky lets himself relax into the comfort of Steve's presence. 

When he curls an arm over the curve of Bucky's waist, Bucky doesn't even flinch, and it's a glorious moment. 

\+ + +

It's four in the morning, and Bucky is lying on the couch with Steve draped around him, metal hand linked with Steve's. There's some shitty Greek wedding playing on the T.V. but Bucky doesn't care about that. All he's focused on is the way Steve's mouth presses light kisses into his neck every so often, just a reminder that he's here, and the way his arm is laying comforting over Bucky's stomach. He thinks about the way Steve kissed him, instead of thinking about the screaming and gunshots of his nightmares. He doesn't see the faces of people he's murdered, he only sees Steve's smile; only hears his laugh.

Steve has him, completely, as he always has, and Bucky can feel everything. For the first time in a long time, he's trusting someone with everything he is. And Steve receives it, takes all of the baggage and tucks it in close to his heart, holding it there tightly. 

Bucky can't even begin to describe how relieved he feels.

“I can't ever fix what I did Buck, and I know that,” Steve murmurs after a long while and Bucky frowns a bit. “But I'm always going to try.”

“Till the end of the line?” Bucky murmurs, because that's really all he can ask for now. His lips are against Steve's bicep when Steve smiles against the back of his head, pressing a kiss to his hair and tightening his grip on Bucky.

“Till the end of the line, Buck. Always.”


End file.
